Drowning
by allthingsdecent
Summary: After the events of Family Practice, House and Cuddy find a way back to each other.


**This small fic is based on a prompt from Her Royal V-ness: Have House and Cuddy address the "maybe a week from now...maybe a year from now" comment from Family Practice.**

**So I rewatched the ep and was struck by the same thing that bugged me the first time I saw it: How House never comforted Cuddy. How he watched her pain without hugging her or trying to console her. So I decided to write a fic that addressed that directly. Hope you like it**. **-ATD**

House tentatively stepped into the waiting room, where Cuddy and Julia were sitting side by side.

"Hey," he said to Cuddy. Then, with forced politeness: "Nice to see you, Julia."

"You too, House," Julia said. "Thanks for saving our mom. Even if you almost single-handedly killed her first. But thanks all the same."

House looked over Cuddy. She looked drawn, fatigued.

"You're welcome," he said, with great restraint. Then he focused again on Cuddy: "Davis told me the surgery went well."

"Yes," she said. "No complications. They expect mom to make a full recovery."

"Good," he said.

An awkward silence. House fiddled with his cane.

"So you're . . ."

"Waiting here until she wakes up," Cuddy finished.

"And Rachel?"

"With the Swansons," Cuddy said, referring to her neighbors.

"Do you want me to. . .?" he wasn't sure what he was even about to suggest. Knock on the Swansons' door? Pick Rachel up? Tuck her in? It was beyond the realm of reality for him.

"I'll pick her up on the way home," Cuddy reassured him.

He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"So I guess I'm going to. . ."

"I'll see you at home, House," Cuddy said.

She wasn't expecting him to stay. Thank God.

He nodded—and left.

"Wow," Julia said to Cuddy, after he was out of sight. "He's Mr. Warmth."

"He's fine," Cuddy said.

"Not exactly a touchy feely type."

Cuddy gave a dry chuckle.

"Oh, he's quite touchy. And feely."

"That's not what I meant—and you know it. Would it kill him to give you a hug? Tell you how happy he is that mom is going to be okay?"

"He saved mom's life!" Cuddy said, sharply. "You should be genuflecting before him."

"I know," Julia said, her tone softening. "He's a brilliant doctor. The best. But as a boyfriend. . .?"

"He's a great boyfriend," Cuddy said, defensively. "Okay, maybe he's not a 'Oh, my poor baby' type, but he's there for me in other ways."

"Just not tangible ones," Julia said.

"I don't see Michael here," Cuddy countered.

"You know he's home with the kids," Julia said. "He's texted me 20 times." And she held up her phone, as if to prove her point.

Cuddy sighed.

"To be honest, Jules. I think House might've stayed if you weren't here. You kind of freak him out."

"_Life_ kind of freaks him out," Julia muttered.

#####

The fridge was empty, so House went to Sullivans, sat glumly at the bar, had a couple of beers and a burger. People kept trying to engage him conversation, but he ignored them. He was in the mood to wallow.

When he got home, the house was dark. He figured that Cuddy was already asleep. But the bed was still made—those decorative pillows Cuddy insisted on still propped uselessly against the headboard. Then he noticed that the door to Rachel's bedroom was slightly ajar.

He peered in. Cuddy was standing next to Rachel's crib, her head bent, looking down at her sleeping daughter. Something about the way she was standing suggested she'd been there for a while.

She was whispering things he couldn't quite make out: But he heard a few words "love" and "forever" and "honesty."

A part of him wanted nothing more than to step into that room, put his arms around her, hold her closely, murmur in her ear that everything was gong to be okay.

But he knew how he got when he was upset. He hated when people hovered and smothered. He liked to work things out on his own.

Besides, he sensed that he had failed some essential boyfriend test these past few days, although he wasn't sure what.

If he could do it all over again, what would he have done differently? Not given Arlene those placebos? Okay, probably not. Not yelled at Cuddy? But he needed to wake her from her stupor. He'd never seen her like that: So helpless, so passive. It was disconcerting.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this whole episode with Arlene had created some sort of rift between them. And he wasn't sure how to mend it.

He watched his depressed girlfriend whispering words of comfort to her sleeping daughter for a while and finally went to bed.

#####

He took his lunch up to the roof the next day, hoping to be alone.

Of course, Wilson found him. He was like a bloodhound—but instead of smelling blood, he smelled human suffering.

House rolled his eyes a bit when his friend stepped onto the landing.

"You okay?" Wilson said.

"Tip top," House said.

"Right. Because you always hide on the roof at lunchtime eating a sandwich—"

He squinted more closely at what House was eating.

"Eating _my_ sandwich. Hey, that was clearly labeled James Wilson in the refrigerator."

House looked down.

"Was it? Because I thought it said By James Wilson, Made With Love For Greg House."

"That must've been the fine print," Wilson said, shaking his head and smiling a bit.

House cocked an eyebrow, took another bite.

"Spicy mustard would've been so much better on this, by the way," he said.

"Next time I make a sandwich for me—and by me, I apparently mean you—I'll keep that in mind."

"Thank you."

"So Arlene is going to be okay I hear."

"Yup."

"You saved the day."

"Yup."

"And yet. . ."

"And yet nothing."

"House. . . normally you don't hide your mooching. You do out in the open, where the world can admire your mastery of the form."

With great consternation, Wilson sat down beside his friend. He brushed some dust off his trousers. Sitting on dirty rooftops wasn't really his thing.

House looked at him for a second, then sighed.

"I could've lost her," he said, under his breath.

"Who?"  
"Cuddy," House said.

"I'm sure she's very grateful for what you did," Wilson said.

"But what if I hadn't saved her? If Arlene had. . . died. Cuddy would've left me," House said. His voice had a faraway quality.

"You don't know that," Wilson said.

"Oh sure. Because lots of couples survive when one partner murders the other partner's mother," House said.

"I'd hardly call it murder," Wilson said. He scratched his chin. "What does Cuddy say about all this?"

"We haven't talked about it."

"That makes sense," Wilson said, nodding. "Right now you just want to be there for her, huh? Not feed your own neuroses."

House took a bite of the sandwich, said nothing.

Wilson side-eyed him.

"House, you _have_ been there for her, right? She's been through an ordeal. She needs you right now."

House hesitated.

"Cuddy likes to be alone when she's upset. She likes to stew on her own."

"Noooo," Wilson said. "_You_ like to be alone when you're upset. _You _like to stew. Cuddy needs her boyfriend to comfort her."

House gave a half shrug.

"You know I'm not good at that kind of thing. I'm not comforting boyfriend guy. My specialty is making people feel worse."

"Cuddy doesn't need you to be good at it," Wilson said. "She just needs you to be there—a body in the room. Someone who's on her side."

"She has Julia," House said. "And Rachel."

"Not _quite_ the same thing."

"I'm not even sure she wants to see me right now," House muttered.

"That's bullshit and you know it, House. Step up to the plate and be a good boyfriend for her. Or your premonition of losing her might actually come true."

House looked down at his last bite of the sandwich. He found that he wasn't hungry anymore. He took the remains of the sandwich and hurled it off the roof.

Wilson frowned at him but said nothing.

####

House didn't see Cuddy all day. But he spoke to Davis, who said that Arlene had been moved to a private room and could be released as early as tomorrow. Then House got stuck on an annoying case—a man showing the classic signs of lead paint poisoning, but no paint or paint stripping chemicals found in his house (they finally discovered a stripped down '54 Mustang he was working on in an unventilated garage he was renting).

By the time House got home, it was 10 pm.

Again, the bedroom was untouched, but a light was on in Cuddy's home office.

He stood in front of the door for a second, but didn't knock.

He went into the bedroom, fiddled around for a bit.

Finally, he knocked on Cuddy's door.

"Come in," she said wearily.

He opened the door. She looked up at him with tired eyes.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back.

"Whatchya doing?"

"Boring stuff. Budgets. A lot of this stuff has been piling up."

"Yeah. . .Guess you've been sorta preoccupied."

"Yeah," she said. "But the hospital waits for no personal crisis."

He jerked his head toward the room.

"You coming to bed soon?"

"Sure," she said. "In a little bit."

"Okay."

He wasn't sure she had even slept the night before. He didn't remember her ever coming to bed.

He started to leave the office, then stopped.

"You okay?" he finally asked.

"I'm fine."

He stepped toward her.

"You sure?"

She closed her eyes.

"It's been a stressful few days. But I'm going to be okay."

He hesitated.

"Are _we_ going to be okay?" he said.

She gave him a rueful smile.

"Yeah, House. We're going to be fine."

It was like a weight had been on his chest that he didn't even know was there—and someone had just lifted it.

"Come here," he said gently.

She stood up, walked toward him.

He opened his arms and was surprised how quickly she folded into them, as though drawn by an invisible magnet.

He held her tightly and suddenly realized that her shoulders were shaking and his shirt was wet. She was crying, releasing all the pent up emotion she had kept bottled up these past few days.

And part of him felt so sad seeing her like this. But part of him felt this strange, unexpected surge of pride: Wilson was right. He was who Cuddy needed—he was _that_ guy. Comforting boyfriend guy.

"Poor baby," he said, testing the words, pulling her closer. "My poor baby."

#####

After they parted, he remembered why he had come into the office to begin with.

"I drew you a bath," he said.

"A bath?" she said, wrinkling her nose adorably. "The last time you drew me a bath, my lady parts burned for weeks."

"I'm pretty sure there were other reasons your lady parts were sore after that day," House boasted. Then he smiled. "This is strictly that grapefruit bubble stuff you like so much."

"A bath actually sounds good," she said, stretching.

"Enjoy," he said. "I'll see you in a bit."

"No," she said stubbornly. "Come take a bath with me."

"Yeah?"

"Of course, you idiot. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

They got naked, got in the bath together. She sat between his legs and he rested his chin on her head, just as they had that first morning, so many months ago.

"You know what I've been thinking about?" Cuddy said, musingly.

"What?"

"What you said that day. In my office: 'Maybe a week from now. . .maybe a year from now. . .' Do you remember saying that?"

"Yes," he said. "I do."

She smiled, a bit surprised. "I thought you were going to pretend you never said it."

"I said it alright," he said.

She looked up at him.

"Do you really think we're still going to be together in a year?"

"I know we are," he said, matter of factly.

"I know we are too," she said.

And she closed her eyes. She hadn't slept in days, and she felt herself drifting away. She was in the tub but she was safe in his arms.

He would never let her drown.


End file.
